A Surprising Safety
by DianaBottles
Summary: After her fifth year, Hermione is kidnapped in a Death Eater attack. Learning that Lucius is to instruct her in the Dark Arts, Hermione prepares for torture and misery - but forgets to consider her teacher's son, Draco Malfoy.
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1: The Catalyst

_As though a window gave upon the __sylvan scene_

_The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king_

_So rudely forced__; yet there the nightingale _

_Filled all the desert with inviolable voice _

_And still she cried, and still the world pursues,_

_'Jug Jug' to dirty ears._

- "The Waste Land" T.S. Eliot

"The communion hymn will be 'Sing a New Song,' number three hundred and forty-five."

Hermione sat up a little straighter, as her mother gently nudged her, and handed her the hymnal. She sighed, and began to sing along.

Church had become almost unbearable the summer after fifth year. Anytime she sat still and had a chance for her thoughts to roam, Hermione found she couldn't concentrate. Too much had happened, and too much needed to be thought about. This included the school books for that year – the Arithmancy one was simply immense, and while the other titles for the NEWT level course were optional, Hermione had purchased them all and staggered out of the shop under the load.

While at home at least, there was no one to talk to about these things. Hermione loved her parents, yes, but she had told them only the minimum about the war. They were loving and understanding, but would never be able to comprehend a situation that seemed so fantastical. Letters to Ron and Harry helped, but Ron was dealing with problems within his own family, and Harry was slowly overcoming Sirius' loss.

Her mother had noticed her lack of concentration, how she would drift off at times, even in the midst of conversation. _Like now_, Mrs. Granger thought, watching her daughter.

Hermione followed the refrain with the second verse, but was hardly listening. At the moment, she was more occupied with an Arithmancy problem she'd read before they left in the morning which she still hadn't figured it out. And it was a proof – she loved proofs! Professor Vector had praised her warmly last year for being able to logically and clearly deduce each problem.

The congregation finished the song and knelt. One parishioner fidgeted, then stood and went to the back of the church, presumably to the bathroom. The priest raised his hands over the Eucharist and began the prayer. Hermione bit her lip, and frowned slightly, thinking back to the problem.

"Prove that the invisibility-enabling Aoratos Charm makes use of magical properties of seven, and how this affects the magnitude of the spell," the book had read.

_Suppose_, Hermione mentally chanted_, the Aortas Charm does utilize the magical properties of seven. If so, then it must be cast within a heptagon, following Bridget Wenlock's postulate on the fundamental properties of seven. _

_And the heptagon helps increase the magnitude of the spell, I know!_ Hermione thought. _But I'm positive there's more then that! What am I missing?_

"What on earth?" Mr. Granger muttered suddenly, looking towards the main church aisle. A man was strolling down it, slowly, black robes fluttering behind him. There was a hood drawn up over his face, which Hermione could see was hidden behind a white mask.

A Death Eater.

"I thank you, Father, for preparing an altar for us," the man said.

Hermione gasped, and a shriek almost erupted from her mouth. It was Lucius Malfoy's voice – _he's in Azkaban, and he escaped, oh god_ _– this is a raid, I'm in the middle of a Death Eater raid!_

Lucius ignored the indignant shouts and calls from the congregation, and continued to speak. "However, we will no longer be requiring your services." He smiled, and Hermione swore she could see the power and expectation swirling around him like an aura. "Avada Kedavra!"

The jet of green light swooped towards the altar and struck the priest in the stomach, accompanied by a rushing sound. He collapsed.

Hermione felt bile rise in her throat.

Other Death Eaters stepped out now, from within the congregation, from behind doors, from confessionals, some still appearing like Muggles as their own features slowly began to melt through.

_Polyjuice Potion_, Hermione realized. _They must not be that concerned about being recognized_.

Snapping back into Gryffindor mode, she considered the possibilities. There was no way she'd make it out of the church by running. The Death Eaters would probably recognize her though, and stop because she was Harry Potter's friend...and she could use a stunning spell...

Except she didn't have her wand; never took it to Mass. _And even if I did_,Hermione reconsidered,_ how could I take down twenty Death Eaters?_

Mrs. and Mr. Granger turned to their daughter and shoved her down into the pew.

"Mum, they're Death Eaters! Like the ones from the Department of Mysteries!" Hermione exclaimed above the screams that had begun.

Mr. Granger looked at his wife. She looked back, and then spoke to Hermione, saying, "Hermione, we love you. Play along."

Hermione's face twisted in confusion, unsure of what her mother meant, and she panicked at the finality of the statement.

A Death Eater continued up the aisle, until he was coming down their pew, the Muggle features from the Polyjuice motion melding with his own as he reverted to his self.

Hermione's mother grabbed her arm, and her face contorted in terror. Hermione remained confused for a moment, until her mother screamed and shoved her away. Mr. Granger grabbed his wife, holding her tightly, and turning her away from his daughter.

"Who are you?" he screamed. "Don't you dare hurt her!"

_They're pretending I'm a Death Eater_, Hermione realized.

_But that'll never work_, Hermione thought. _The other Death Eaters will expect me to turn back to a Death Eater, and I never will._

The Death Eater continued down the aisle. There was now no one between him and Hermione.

In a few seconds, Hermione gathered the choices and examined them_. Pretend and hope you escape, or stay and die – but with Mum and Dad._

Her parents were still shouting and shrinking away from her. Mrs. Granger held her eyes, pleading with Hermione even as she recoiled from her presence.

_I don't want to die_, Hermione thought suddenly. So she grabbed her mother's arm, wrenched her away from her father, and slammed her into the pew. Mrs. Granger cried out, and slumped down.

"What the hell are you doing, Mudblood bitch," the Death Eater snarled, grabbing Hermione and tossing her to the ground.

She felt even sicker now, but summoned up the best acting skills she possessed.

"Fuck you," she shot back. "The goddamn potion won't reverse."

The Death Eater hesitated, suspicious, but after all, she had been attacking the Muggles.... "Where's your wand?"

"Broken," Hermione replied disgustedly, standing up and brushing herself up, holding her head in a manner befitting Draco Malfoy.

It worked better then she expected.

"Draco Malfoy?" the Death Eater asked. "Lucius said you weren't allowed to come."

"Screw my father," Hermione declared arrogantly.

The Death Eater's face twisted behind the mask.

"Do you realize that you are impersonating _Hermione Granger_, Potter's slut? What'd you do with her?"

"Stunned her," Hermione answered nonchalantly. Her parents were slowly backing up.

This was nearly ridiculous – she was having a conversation with a Death Eater, and the battle was still waging around them. Crucio seems to be a particular favourite, she noted.

"Damn it," the Death Eater exclaimed. "I'm not even going to bother. Lucius can deal with you. Just stay out of the way and within five feet of me, or he'll have my head and Narcissa will probably poison my wife...."

Hermione sneered, which passed for a yes. That settled the Death Eater turned to her parents.

The murder was remarkably brief. The Avada Kedavra, two in a quick succession, accompanied by a rush of air and flash of green light, and it was finished, the Death Eater moving on to the three-year-old hiding under the pew.

Staring at her mother and father's frozen, lifeless faces, she heard the boy's screams as the Scalping Hex was cast, and then a "Silencio!" to quiet his shrieks. He coughed and spat blood, still wailing his throat raw under the cover of the spell.

No, it could have been much worse, Hermione thought with a detached numbness. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek as a tight bind of loss and sorrow bloomed in her chest.

Eventually, after her Death Eater mowed his way through two aisles of horrified Muggle men, women, and children, the screams started dying down, and individual cries could be heard. Mostly from the teenage girls, and some not teenage, who had been allowed to live a bit longer as amusement for Voldemort's disciples.

Having completed his orders, Lucius Malfoy swept along the altar, and scanned the church. When he saw Hermione, his face lit up with a predatory glee.

Perhaps to demonstrate his superiority over her, or just to frighten her, he Apparated to stand directly behind her, angled face peering over her shoulder into her face. She shifted her shoulder, unintentionally turning her face more towards his in an effort to get away from him.

"Hermione Granger," he breathed. "I nearly had you in the Department of Mysteries. Dolohov will be quite jealous of my good fortune."

Nearly tripping over the leg of her dead father, still bound by thick cords, she kicked his leg aside with apparent disdain, and turned to face Lucius Malfoy head on.

"Don't be ridiculous, father," Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms sulkily. "I'm Draco."

Lucius looked at her suspiciously, then narrowed his eyes, and cuffed her. "Idiot! I told you _not_ to come. Especially impersonating Hermione Granger."

"But –" Hermione protested. She felt oddly honoured that he had her so high on his kill list.

"Give me your hand, Draco," Lucius ordered.

"Why?" Hermione responded arrogantly.

Lucius grabbed her hand, turning it palm up, and held it tightly as he gripped a knife in his left hand. It was encrusted with gore.

He slit it along her palm, and blood welled up in the cut. Re-sheathing the dagger, he took his seal ring and pressed it into the wound.

Hermione felt a burning sensation, growing stronger, then hotter, until it was searing into her skin. She tried to wriggle her hand away, and cried out, but Lucius kept the grip on her wrist.

He lifted his ring away. Bringing his face close to hers, he said, "Hello, Granger. Did you think you could impersonate Draco that easily? Blood calls to blood," he added, flashing the bloodied ring in her direction.

She said nothing. _So I lived a little longer_, she thought. _Not much...I could at least have distracted the Death Eater from my parents for awhile._

Still smirking disconcertedly, Lucius nodded to a Death Eater who had come up behind Hermione, waiting for the order to Disapparate. As loud cracks filled the air, he gripped both her wrists, bent forward, and kissed her, disapparating with her...

...Into his place amongst a circle grouped around an unnaturally tall, thin, and pale man. Laughs echoed around the circle and even a smattering of applause as he bit her lip, the blood running into both their mouths.

He finally shoved her away, into the circle.

Hermione fell to the ground, landing hard on a stone. She licked away the blood on her lip, and, shaking slightly, stood.

The circle formed by a ring of black robes and silver faces was closed. She thought of the known Death Eaters. There were many more here then that number. This was not simply the Inner Circle – Voldemort had summoned his entire corps.

Within the outer ring was a semi-circle of about twenty individuals, kneeling directly before the Dark Lord, murmuring to him.

_The Death Eaters who attacked the church? The Inner Circle? Spie_s? Hermione wondered.

She turned around. There were several others, who, like herself, had been brought back. A dying woman, aged to her late twenties, lying on the ground, and hallucinating. A boy who seemed to be in shock, doubtless dying as well. Herself, and another girl who seemed to be about her age, perhaps eight yards away. She was crouched on the ground, with her back to Hermione.

Hermione stepped towards her, and when the ranks remained as they were, walked over to her and knelt beside her.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked the girl.

The girl's face turned.

It was Ginny.

She looked up at Hermione. Her face was bruised, and when she spoke, her voice was raspy and forced. Something had happened to her throat, and she coughed, clearing her throat before repeating her words in a less garbled voice.

"The attacked Diagon Alley," Ginny said, as Hermione stared back at her in shock. "The Floo Network was shut down, and the Apparation points were dismantled. A few people flew out, but the brooms have anti-theft spells and they were thrown off – it only added to the confusion really."

"They attacked Diagon Alley?" Hermione echoed.

Ginny nodded, brushing dirty, knotted and bloody hair out of her face. "It was sudden, and there were so many. Maybe forty, all throwing Dark Curses around. They Apparated in, except for a few who had been under Invisibility Cloaks and preparing for the attack.

"It was too sudden, and no one had a chance to alert the Aurors. It was a massacre," Ginny finished, still raspy and whispering.

"Your brother, your mother – Ginny, what, who –" Hermione asked, desperately needing to know who had died.

"I was there alone. I was supposed to meet a friend," Ginny answered.

"Who?" Hermione asked.

"Dean," Ginny replied. "He didn't show."

Hermione was torn between relief and pity for Ginny. Her family was safe at least, that was more then she could say for her mother and father. But she knew intuitively that soon enough a Weasley would glance at their clock and that Ginny's hand would be pointed unmistakably at "In Mortal Peril".

"What happened to you?" Ginny asked, again coughing up blood, briefly gasping for breath.

"They attacked my church. It was in the middle of Mass. There wasn't a chance for anyone to get out," Hermione explained flatly.

"Your parents...."

"Dead. They pretended I was a Death Eater who hadn't changed back from Polyjuice to try and save me. Lucius Malfoy recognized me though, and knew I wasn't Draco," Hermione elaborated.

"I'm sorry," Ginny consoled softly.

Hermione simply nodded. "So am I. It appears that I might as well have died with them."

Ginny didn't say anything. She knew that being taken captive by the Death Eaters, especially personally so by Lucius Malfoy, was worse then a quick death by Avada Kedavra.

There was rustling behind them. Hermione and Ginny stood, and turned. The semi-circle had risen, and resumed their positions in the outer ring. Voldemort faced the captives his Death Eaters had brought.

The boy who had been taken was immobile and silent, clearly dead. The woman was convulsing, seemingly in some sort of fit. Voldemort waved a hand at one of his followers, who cast a quick killing curse, and her spasms ceased.

"So," he hissed. "It appears that I have two highly important guests with me tonight. Miss Ginevra Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. I must thank Lucius and Stephen Jugson for performing their duties so excellently. They will be duly rewarded," He added, addressing the larger group. The two men bowed their heads, murmuring, "Thank you, my lord," and "If it pleases my lord."

Voldemort stepped closer, sliding his fingers up and down his wand, seemingly in thought. His white, pointed face rejected the darkness, seeming to float above the black robes swathing its owner's figure. Red eyes glittered in the face, and narrowed as they settled on Ginny.

"I remember you, Ginevra," he said quietly, venomously. "I punished Lucius harshly for slipping you my diary without my consent or knowledge. It was most interesting, however. My fifteen year old self may have remained within the pages and boundaries of the diary, but our magical tie remained. When he acted, I could not see it, but it appeared to me as though it had happened forty years ago.

"You were so trusting, so patient, so affectionate and intelligent and impassioned. The later I could see in the Chamber; even as you were dying, I could see remnants of fire and spark. You saw my power over you, and when you realized it, you defied me. I wonder if you still possess that bravery tonight."

"Go to hell, Tom," Ginny answered, her voice cracking.

Voldemort smiled, despite her deliberate use of his name. "So you do." He walked even closer. "Do you know what I've wanted to do to you, Ginevra? I have no capacity to love. But hate is a viable emotion as well, and you have plagued me with it." He finished the last sentence with a hiss.

Grabbing Ginny's arm, he yanked her towards him, snake-like features prominent now in his closer proximity to her body. "I have hated you, and you have disturbed me in my waking hours. You have distracted me – from goals, from logistics, even from the hate I nurture for others." He laughed, high, thin, shrieking and cold.

"I'm not afraid of you, Tom," Ginny answered bravely in her broken tones.

"I'm sure you're not," Voldemort said. "But that isn't necessary."

He brought his face very close to hers, the glowing red eyes boring straight into hers as she daringly and purposefully looked back into them. Ginny could feel the wand wedging lightly into the hollow of her throat. In the darkness, his eyes were the only light around, and they glared so that a halo developed around her vision, until all she could see was the red and the interior black pupils....

"Avada Kedavra."

It was quiet enough that Hermione found it difficult to hear, but the rushing sound and flash of green light were explanation enough. Ginny slumped in Voldemort's arms, and he let her slide to the ground.

"Ginny!" Hermione shrieked.

Voldemort cried, "Incendio!" and her friend's body burnt to ash, a few gleaming pieces of bone still visible in the pile of grey that began to blow gently across the ground. A melted gold chain clung to a piece of grass, the engraving dissolved, a strand of gleaming red hair caught in it.

Hermione gasped, unable to catch her breath, feeling a hard bubble of pain and sorrow ramming up her throat. Her eyes burned, and black sparks flitted in her vision. She felt sick, stomach turning within her. Falling on her hands and knees she vomited, choking and sobbing as she did.

But, as before, shock set in, and the danger around her threw her mind and instincts into full alert.

Voldemort looked down at her, waiting for Hermione to stand again, which she did.

He took a deep breath, and slowly let it out, contemplating the girl before him.

_He's grown more human,_ Hermione thought with surprise, her legs still shaking. _He wouldn't have ever done that before. _

Humanity means he can die.

Voldemort's thin lips spread in an obscenely cruel smile. "Not tonight, Miss Granger."

_Occlumency_, Hermione recognized with distress. _I can't let him look in my eyes._

She looked away, towards the ranks of black robed Death Eaters, their white masks turned to the scene.

"Potter's Mudblood whore," he mused. "Now in my possession. I am quite unsure what to do with you, Miss Granger. You are an unexpected gift tonight, more so then your late friend."

Hermione opened her mouth, angry at Voldemort's words, but she didn't know what to say, so she just shook her head slowly, trying to back away from the words and horror.

"Oh, I have given thought to you often, Miss Granger. Antonin Dolohov has a personal grudge with you, it would seem."

A Death Eater towards the far end of the circle shifted, one who had knelt before the Dark Lord earlier.

Voldemort laughed sharply again. "No, Antonin, I cannot allow you to kill her now."

He beckoned Hermione closer with his wand, and she felt her feet take small, unwilling steps towards him.

"I don't believe you've been properly introduced to my army," he said, sweeping a hand at the circle. "Miss Granger, Mr. Stephen Jugson, Mr. Christopher Mulciber, Mrs. Bellatrix Lestrange, Mr. Walden Macnair, Mr. Ian O'Brien...."

The list went on, a dizzying spread of names, stated clearly, each one inclining his head towards their Lord with their mention.

"And of course, you already know Mr. Lucius Malfoy," Voldemort commented.

Again the slight laughter wafting through the cloaked figures.

"And now, to business." With that finality, Voldemort lifted his wand and cast the Cruciatus, spindly fingers holding his wand aloft and direct on Hermione.

She watched the red beam zing towards her, and strike her in the stomach. Then the pain radiating from the site, throughout her body, unrelenting wave upon wave of it, pounding her and she opened her mouth in a scream as it ripped through her arms legs face back blinding, slicing, stabbing, burning, freezing, pure and undiluted agony.

Then it was gone, and her muscles ached in the aftermath, lungs smarting with each breath. Finding herself on the ground, she tried to stand, but found her legs were too cramped to support her, and her arms quivering. So she laid there, cheek on the cool grass, mind shoving back the memory of anguish.

"Now Miss Granger," Voldemort admonished. "You are a Gryffindor; this cannot be all the fight you have left."

She felt another spell hit her, this one spreading coolness through her limbs and torso, melting away the pain. Trying to stand again, she found she could.

"Much better," Voldemort agreed. "Has Harry Potter told you the prophecy yet?"

Hermione looked back at him, confusion tilting her features. She opened her mouth to speak, but Voldemort cut her short.

"Too slow...." He cast another Cruciatus, this one too brief for her to begin to scream. The beginning of her shriek lumped with the pain in her throat, and she swallowed hard.

"New question – is Severus Snape a spy?"

"No," Hermione answered quickly, before he had a chance to lift his wand.

"Afraid, are we?" Voldemort replied, obviously amused.

Hermione felt anger rush into her again, and looked directly at him. She didn't yell, but calmly and loudly said, "I don't know anything. You might as well kill me."

"No, that would be a waste," Voldemort disputed. "You are a powerful witch, albeit a Mudblood. Miss Granger, how much do you know about the Dark Arts?" The last two words were spoken with near reverence, in a prolonged hiss.

"They are spells cast with malicious intent, with no other use then to harm," Hermione spat back. "The tools of weak and power hungry wizards lacking cause for pride or morality."

"No need to quote Waffling at me, Miss Granger. I know him quite well. But your education in such matters has been unfortunately one-sided thus far.

"Are you aware of a condition known as _Vicissitude Vires_? It refers to a state in which a wizard or witch's magical power, formerly meant for a particular type of magic, is altered to better suit another. Yes, magical ability varies, as well as the field in which the magic is strongest," Voldemort asserted, at Hermione's evident disbelief.

"While it is often determined early in a wizard's life, before they even begin to commonly work spells, it sometimes occurs later, especially in particularly powerful wizards. And – this revelation is new knowledge even to me – in Muggleborns.

"Your magic is at this stage, Miss Granger. It is changing, waiting to be formed with your intent. Or, with the intent of others. Once your magic has been moulded to a particular skill, you will be very powerful in that area only, while perhaps below average or weaker in others. A price paid for power, and the reason for the careful schooling of magical children," he finished.

There was a pause, as Hermione reflected on what he had told her.

"You want to shape my magic. To the Dark Arts," Hermione said, understanding now.

"Precisely," Voldemort answered.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter 2: Then the Realization

_The more perfect a thing is, the more susceptible to good and bad treatment it is._

- Dante

"The object of the manipulation has to be willing," Hermione argued, in triumph. She had never heard of _Vicissitude Vires_, but most magic that involved changing the nature of another person required consent – though that could be forced.

"No, they don't, Miss Granger," Voldemort assured. "Taking advantage of _Vicissitude Vires_ does not directly use spells. Rather, the subject's magic is moulded through their environment, and the magic they cast, or are allowed to cast."

"I won't do it!" Hermione shouted, feeling rage build up at the contempt and condescending tone.

"You will. You are too powerful to be wasted on simple fools like Dumbledore. You are meant for the Dark Arts, Hermione," Voldemort hissed, using her given name for the first time. It felt so much more personal, and upset her that much more as well.

He stepped closer, and forced her face to look into his. When he spoke, it was quiet enough that only she could hear. "You seek knowledge. You seek the acknowledgment of your success and abilities. I know the desire – I know the difficulty of climbing out of the gutter of one's parents' lives."

"I am a Muggleborn _witch_, and proud of it. I don't try to hide _my_ heritage, nor my family, and I am just as worthy and powerful because of it," Hermione retorted, not bothering to lower her voice. The implications of her statement made the Dark Lord draw back in anger.

"Your parents are dead. Your friend is dead. You are alone, you have disappeared, and you are unknown. You don't even have a wand. I take that as acceptance of my offer," Voldemort answered finally. "It will be interesting to see your attitude and opinions of these same subjects in a few months time."

"When Harry kills you," Hermione said the fury and loss lining her voice, "I am going to be there to watch."

Voldemort repeated his earlier response. "Not tonight."

Hermione felt hands grip her shoulders, and spun around. It was Lucius Malfoy – she recognized the glittering grey eyes in the holes of his mask.

Still gripping her shoulders, he Disapparated, and took Hermione with him for the second time that night.

When she opened her eyes, they were standing in a stone pentagon – an Apparation point. A path led up to a mansion and Lucius turned, waiting for Hermione to follow.

"Are you going to run?" He asked.

"No," Hermione answered, slightly stunned him even considering her reaction.

"Well, then hurry up, girl!" He snapped, tapping his cane impatiently on the step above him.

When she followed him, he continued, leading the way up the steps, stopping briefly at each landing to withdraw his wand and murmur several spells, presumably taking down and putting up wards. Hermione stumbled several times, tired and aching, mentally and emotionally exhausted. They finally reached a terrace with small raised garden beds, a fountain, and several tables. From here, Hermione saw that the area they had Apparated to was towards the bottom of a hill, and beneath it lay a lake, extensive gardens, and a topiary maze. The Malfoy equivalent of a backyard.

Lucius didn't stop to admire the view – _but then, he lives here_, Hermione thought – instead continuing straight into the Manor, and into the lit room that lie inside open French doors.

"Lucius!" A voice cried.

A tall blonde woman rushed into his arms, and kissed him on both cheeks quickly. "You didn't send word!" She accused. "I expected you hours ago!"

"I apologize, Narcissa. There was an unexpected development," Lucius replied, gently removing his wife from him.

"You disappointed Draco – again. He waited up for you," Narcissa added, now much more collected.

"I will speak to him, later. Now – come here, girl!" Lucius directed that last order at Hermione, the impatience resonating in his voice.

Narcissa's attention turned to the girl who stepped out of the shadows into the light of her sitting room. She studied the child –or teenager, rather. Hermione shifted slightly under Narcissa's gaze.

The girl was clearly exhausted, shaking slightly with the after affects of Cruciatus, which Narcissa recognized well. She had tear stains on her cheeks, a cut on her palm and lip, dirt smudged on wrinkled and torn clothes.

"Who is this, Lucius?" Narcissa asked coldly.

"Hermione Granger. She was in the Muggle church we raided. Our Lord was pleased with my gift," Lucius explained, removing his mask and gloves, and then leaning slightly on his cane in disinterest.

Narcissa looked at Hermione again, calculating this time. Draco had carried home stories of Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor Mudblood too smart for her own good, and who ran with Harry Potter and his Weasley friend. This girl was beaten, shaking, tired, and devastated.

_I'm different from what she would have expected_, Hermione realized, noticing Narcissa's apparent disillusionment.

Narcissa tilted her chin, and turned back to Lucius. He met her eyes and said, "I will explain later."

Narcissa nodded, and Lucius turned, boots making precise clicks on the marbled floor as he exited the room.

"Come," Narcissa ordered.

Hermione followed Narcissa; the latter's robes trailing on the polished floor as she led her through hallways and rooms, up staircases and past whispering portraits. She stopped before a room with tall double doors, opening one and gesturing for Hermione to enter.

The younger woman did so, and Narcissa addressed her before shutting the doors again. "One of the elves, or my husband or I, will come for you in the morning. Do not wander – it is easy to become lost in the Manor."

Then she shut the door, leaving it conspicuously unlocked.

Hermione was left in a large chamber, complete with fireplace, vanity, dressers, a bed, couches, a desk, and a large candlelit bathroom. There was no window.

She didn't care, and collapsed onto the bed after taking the few feet towards it she required.

Lights magically dimming as she shut her eyes, Hermione immediately fell asleep.

The next morning, Hermione woke to aching muscles and a throbbing headache. Her lip was swollen, and when she licked it she could taste the blood near the surface.

A clock ticking softly on the desk informed her it was one o'clock in the afternoon. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and stood up, feeling light-headed for a moment. Deciding that she was capable of walking, Hermione headed towards the bathroom.

She'd splashed water on her face and washed the cut on her hand, when a squeak came from the room.

"Is Miss Granger awake? Tilly is needing to know if Miss Granger is awake, miss, because master is needing to see her."

Hermione looked at the house elf, and for the first time, felt an urge to kick the cowering little creature. She wanted to be alone, to go back to sleep, to be able to forget everything for just a little bit longer...

"Miss? Tilly is needing to know, miss, if you are up, and master is wanting to see you!" It repeated anxiously, twisting its ratty pillowcase between its fingers.

"Yes, I am awake," Hermione snapped. "And tell Mr. Malfoy that I refuse to see him, and I am going back to sleep."

She stormed out of the bathroom, Tilly jumping out of the way, and crawled back in bed, yanking the curtains shut around it and burrowing under the blankets.

Tilly moaned piteously at the thought of delivering such a rude response to her master, but left with a pop, leaving Hermione alone.

Shutting her eyes tightly, Hermione tried to fall back asleep. Her eyes burned, and she knew that her body was still exhausted. But her mind was in turmoil, and she kept replaying the night before again, and again, and again...

She was half-asleep with a few tears dangling on her eyelashes when Lucius Malfoy entered. Hermione didn't move, because the curtains and canopy draping the bed were soundproof. He quickly yanked them back, exposing her, and said, "Get up."

Hermione opened her eyes, and saw an angry Lucius standing over her, index finger rubbing the serpentine eyes of his cane. She sat up, and quickly moved to stand. It was uncomfortable to be sitting with him towering over her.

"Let me make myself clear, Miss Granger. My Lord has plans for you, plans which I play a part in. I have no intention of disappointing him, especially because of an irritating and disobedient Mudblood. If I call you, you will come. If my wife, summons you, you will obey her. If you receive a message from either of us through another, you will follow it. There is no_ choice_ involved," He emphasized, in slow words, sharp and plain.

Hermione shivered at the coldness of his tone, feeling the prickling of sweat breaking out across her body. A comment by Ron flashed to the surface of her mind: "I wouldn't want to mess with any of _that_ family. The Malfoys are dangerous to your health."

Ron.

Harry.

_Ginny_. Mother, Father, the church, the raid, Tom Riddle, Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy, the three- year-old boy, the screaming woman, Crucio, ashes, and a melted golden chain with a single strand of gleaming red hair...

A melted golden chain.

Lucius Malfoy was wearing a melted golden chain. With a strand of red hair still entwined in the twisted yellow metal.

Hermione gaped at it, shocked and horrified. A token of her friend's death – hanging around the murderer's throat.

She had thought Lucius Malfoy many things. A Death Eater, an aristocrat, a pureblood, a scornful man too wealthy and too proud. Power hungry, and frighteningly intelligent. But he seemed to be nothing better then a bloodthirsty and sadistic murderer. There was nothing less, and he was nothing more.

His mouth crooked into a slight smile as Hermione stared in disbelief at the necklace. He revelled in it, basking in every drop of fear and anguish that he could wring from her body.

When he had let her reminisce accordingly for nearly a minute, Lucius spun on his heel and left, pausing at the door to say, "Be downstairs in a half hour," without even turning around.

Within seconds of his departure, Tilly the house elf was back, whirling around and wringing her hands. "Must hurry, miss, Tilly must help you get dressed, Master will be so displeased if I disobeys him again."

Hermione snapped back to reality. She let Tilly lead her around, taking a bath, brushing her hair, eating lunch, putting on the clothes laid out for her. In the wake of her abduction, and the realization of her predicament, its permanence, and danger, the mourning for her parents and Ginny faded to a bearable and strangely detached state. She felt sorrow thinking about them, but not the overwhelming and breath-wrenching pain from before. This seemed wrong somehow, but it was welcome relief she wouldn't deny – _but_ _you have to mourn sometime_, Hermione thought. Tonks had said much the same thing after the battle in the Department of Mysteries. She'd smiled sadly when Hermione confessed she was worried Harry would sink too far into himself, collapse from the internal pressure and lack of external love and support at his uncle and aunt's. _Better to get it out sooner – it'll only eat you up from the inside out._

_Fortunately, _Hermione mused, _I don't have much inside to be eaten up anymore_.

Tilly led her through a hallway, a room, and down a flight of gleaming wooden stairs, and Hermione, still wrapped up in her mind, considered how very little she had to lose.

Then she recalled how she had fought to save her life, rather then stay with her parents, and knew exactly how well Lucius had caught her.

He was waiting in an office, or a small library – it could have been either. The windows in it looked out over the lake, which glittered in the afternoon light streaming through the beveled glass. His hair was swept back impeccably over black and green robes, the ever present cane in his left hand.

"Sit," he commanded nonchalantly.

Hermione did so, seating herself at a desk.

Lucius spoke to her without turning around. "While your appearance before my Lord last night was unexpected, he has been planning such an event for some time now. You, Miss Granger, are wanted badly by both sides of this war – or rather, your magic is," He said, adding the last comment silkily.

"I have been deemed your instructor in the dark arts, because of my experience, and the trust that I will be able to resist any temptation to practice them upon you, rather then teaching you them. And, Draco will be such an excellent influence on you." He turned around, searching her face for the slightest response.

Hermione folded her arms, and didn't move. She did note, with some relief, that he had removed Ginny's necklace. "You're going to teach me the dark arts," She replied. _That would be like handing a serial killer a gun, your address, and a map of the neighbourhood_, she thought.

"You are intelligent girl, Miss Granger, albeit an annoying know-it-all if Draco is anything to go by. Please do better then repeating my own words in your answers," Lucius snapped.

_Draco_! Hermione thought with dismay. She'd forgotten about him. _Lovely. _

"Father! Mother wanted to know where you moved the key to the – well, well. If it isn't, Granger. Come to visit?"

_I'm beginning to understand Harry's mood swings from the past five years_. She turned in the chair, and saw a surprised Draco Malfoy examining this latest addition to the household.

Strangely, Hermione felt somewhat safer now. Her relationship with Draco was stable and certain; he disliked her as much as she scoffed at him and his prejudices. That little bit of school life brought into her now upturned one was comforting. And she hadn't heard any real menace in his voice – not like the controlled hate she detected in Lucius' every movement. His remark seemed pettier, gloating over her sudden appearance. Irritating, but not dangerous.

"Yes, thought I'd drop in for a bit and stay for tea," Hermione snorted.

Lucius Malfoy watched their exchange, remaining silent for the moment.

"I'm serious, Granger. Why the hell are you at my house? It's not like I don't spend nearly ten months out of the year with you," Draco retorted.

"Ask your father," Hermione bit back.

Draco looked at Lucius, who nodded to his son. Draco's mouth dropped open in shock.

"_She's_ the one you've been planning on training?" he exclaimed.

"Well, I'm glad someone else is surprised," Hermione said to herself.

"I am not going to stand here all afternoon and watch you two banter. I have work to do, and Miss Granger still needs her lesson for the day," Lucius cut in, lacing his last sentence with sarcasm.

"I apologize for interrupting, Father," Draco replied with seemingly honest humility and regret. Then he turned around, and walked through the bookshelves to the door, Lucius nodding and turning away from him before he'd even left. Over Lucius' shoulder, however, Hermione could see that Draco had opened the door, shut it, and walked right back to the end of the bookshelf, leaning on it and watching.

He saw her staring at him, and knew she couldn't say anything. Or wouldn't – perhaps he knew how much safer she felt with him there.

_It must be Stockholm Syndrome_, Hermione thought. _Draco Malfoy making me feel safe._

Draco waved, smirking, obviously enjoying Hermione's discomfort in the situation.

Lucius was in a far more volatile mood, and he withdrew a wand from his pocket, handing it to Hermione. It had a slim band of metal fused on near the tip.

"That," Lucius said, "Is to prevent you from ever managing to seriously hurt me. And to ensure that when you practice magic, it is dark magic only."

Hermione immediately turned and pointed the wand at a book on the shelf. "Accio!" She cried.

The book flopped around on the shelf, but didn't move towards her at all.

Lucius completely ignored her thwarted attempts at normal magic. "You have, of course, felt the Imperius curse before. Now you will learn how to block it."

Hermione's chest fluttered with the beginnings of panic. "But, you, you can't! It's an Unforgiveable – "

"Imperio," Lucius sighed, appearing only mildly bothered by this angry and confused girl.

Hermione felt that floating feeling, dreamy and content. _Go stand in the window. Go stand in the open window_.

She obeyed the voice, feeling blissful and at peace. A breeze ruffled her hair, and euphoria filled her.

_Jump out of the window_.

She jumped.

The curse was lifted almost instantaneously, and Hermione heard Lucius shout, "Wingardium Leviosa!" before she slammed into the ground.

But she hit it hard enough to jar both knees, and winced as Lucius lifted her up and through the window, where he set her down again.

She could still see Draco watching intently.

_Maybe he's never seen his father "at work" like this before. At least not with another person._

"Try again," Lucius demanded. "And I won't bother to catch you next time."

Her back to the room, Hermione waited anxiously, trying to prepare her mind for the attack.

"Imperio!"

Bliss, relief, peace, and calm. _Jump out of the window_.

_No, you can't jump, you'll fall! _– the awake part of her mind screamed.

_Jump out of the window._

Hermione hesitated.

_Jump! NOW!_

She felt herself lean back, putting one foot off the ledge – and then snapped back to herself and her hands grabbed for the sides of the window. She shoved backwards, and landed in a heap on the floor, gasping from the danger and mental effort.

"Very good," Lucius said. He beckoned for her to return to the desk, where a thin book lay.

She looked quickly towards the bookshelf, knowing that Lucius would see Draco, but the younger Malfoy was gone.

"Read this tonight," Lucius ordered. And then he left.

Hermione slid into the chair, still shaky from the Imperius and from being near Lucius Malfoy. She wished badly for a piece of chocolate.

No house elves came for her, and the room was silent. The book before her beckoned.

"_A Treatise on Dark Magic_," She read aloud. "By Benedict of Bryher."

Despite her misgivings, curiosity took over, and she opened the book and began to read.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter 3: An Unexpected Necessary Meeting

He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare,  
And he who has one enemy will meet him everywhere.

- _A Hundred Sayings_, Ali ibn-Abi-Tahib

Hermione remained in that desk for hours, reading straight through the book. It was surprisingly unbiased, written by a hermit in the early sixteenth century. In that time, according to Benedict of Bryher, the Dark Arts grew in popularity, use, and capability. The introduction of new wand materials from North America allowed for witches and wizards formerly limited by inadequate wands to perform magic to their full ability for the first time.

Inevitably, some turned to Dark Magic, a previously limited field. Religion played a major role in the Muggle world, but the societal guidelines established therein did not extend to wizarding communities. The morals that prevented some Muggles from turning to murder, theft, adultery, and the pursuit of power were lost on many witches and wizards.

It was during this time, Benedict wrote, that the first Unforgivable was developed; Crucio, the most basic and inhumane of the curses. It presented a major break from ordinary magic, and even from previously practiced dark magic, because it required a desire and intent to cause and enjoy pain. The stronger the hate, or desire to cause pain to the victim, the stronger the curse. This is what classified all later Unforgiveables, as they were developed by different wizards at separate times.

_So if Lucius Malfoy wants me to learn how to use the Unforgiveables, then I'll have to want to cause pain. But I don't want to do that! _ Hermione thought with horror.

_Except to him. Oh. Clever. _

But Lucius would never allow her to simply practice casting the Cruciatus and Imperius on him.

_He would expect me to lose control and curse him, neatly teaching me the capacity to hate and creating an excuse to curse me. So to beat him at his game, I can't hate him. Or rather, I can hate him but I can't curse him_.

It was dark outside, and the study was shadowed when Hermione finally left. She had kept the book with her, wanting to reread it, and even commit several passages to memory. She had a feeling she would be tested.

Upon leaving, and walking down a hallway, Hermione discovered that she was lost. No one had returned to take her back, so it appeared she was on her own to find her room again.

There were four different halls she could continue down, and ahead she could see one led to a set of descending stairs.

_Do not wander – it is easy to become lost in the Manor._

_Narcissa had it right,_ Hermione thought. _This place is a maze._

"Tilly?" she called, hoping the house elf would appear. "Mr. Malfoy? Mrs. Malfoy? Hello?"

There was no answer.

"Perfect," Hermione muttered. She sank down the wall and sat.

She waited.

And waited, taking the opportunity to memorize the lines from _A Treatise on Dark Magic_ she'd thought especially important.

Halfway through the sixth chapter (_Dark Potions and How They Inflict Suffering_), a person began making their way up the stairs at the end of the hallway directly before her.

A blonde head appeared – _though the whole family's blonde, so it could be any of them_ – and Draco Malfoy looked up in surprise to see Hermione sitting on the floor in a corner.

He smirked, and sauntered over. "I know you're probably homesick, Granger, but the house elves try to keep the Manor clean of the usual filth," Draco said, leaning against the wall across from hers.

Hermione was about to tell him to shove off, but remembering she was lost in a labyrinth that he called home, she swallowed her pride, and asked, "Could you help me get back to my room?"

"Is that an invitation?" Draco answered.

Hermione looked up at him in disgust, and he stared back in feigned innocence. "I know the Malfoy charm is hard to resist, Granger, don't be ashamed or anything...."

"You never stop, do you?" Hermione interjected.

Draco arched an eyebrow, looking at her quizzically.

"Every chance you get, you have to throw in some sardonic remark, or insult me, Harry or Ron. Every single time!" Hermione ranted, thoroughly fed up. She stood, getting in his face as much as possible for her height. "Do you think I _want_ to be here? Your father kidnapped me – after his colleagues killed both my parents and Ginny." She laced the last sentence with venom, wanting to shock or anger him.

Draco didn't answer. _But for him, that is different_, Hermione thought.

"My father is not a nice man, Granger. That's a fact I made my peace with a long time ago," he finally replied.

Hermione was taken aback. She hadn't expected him to explain himself, and now she didn't know what to say to him. _I'm the wronged one_, she thought argumentatively, _I don't have to answer._

"Do you want me to show you back to your room or not?" Draco asked, after allowing Hermione a moment of silence.

"Yes," she said with resentment. Depending on Draco Malfoy....

He directed her with a flourish or his arms, the irony apparent in the movement. Hermione folded her arms, refusing to take a step before he did. There was no way she was going to let him go behind her. Draco shrugged, and led the way.

"Why did you stay?" Hermione queried suddenly. "In the study, after your father dismissed you. You stayed and watched him. Never seen him work before?" She added the last sentence with sarcasm.

"No," Draco answered with disinterest, "I was just curious to see what he'd make you jump off. I actually only had to use a chair. Of course, the carpet was cursed to strangle you, but that's still fairly mild. Then again," he mused, "I was nine, so Father probably felt inclined to go easy on me."

"A carpet that _strangled_ you?" Hermione said.

Draco smirked. "You're standing on it."

Hermione scuttled backwards off the carpet, which lay docile. Warily watching it, but apparently in vain, she realized he was teasing her.

She stomped across it into a room. "Hilarious, Malfoy."

"Don't go in there, you idiot!" Draco exclaimed, running over and yanking her out of the room. His face was serious.

Hermione turned. "You just pulled that trick, Malfoy, do you honestly think I'd fall for it again?"

Draco shoved her away, and said, "Move back."

Hermione folded her arms again, and wouldn't budge.

Draco stepped back with irritation. "Fine." He sauntered back ten feet.

The doorway remained still for a moment, the interior calm – it was an empty room, with a gleaming wooden floor, antique chair rail, and mirrors with golden phoenixes trilling on the side. Then Hermione felt a slight drift of air from the room – hot air. Then another and the dust in the room seemed to sparkle a bit, floating golden in the mirrors' reflected light.

The room exploded with sudden heat, and Hermione was thrown to the ground in the burst. Burning air whooshed above her, and the doors blackened, the floor incinerated, the phoenixes melted. It ended as quickly as it'd begun, and the doors and room repaired themselves, right down to the dust motes floating through the air.

Hermione didn't move, her mouth gaping open in shock. _What _was_ that?_ she thought. _Incendio based charms use fire, this was only heat – but it would still incinerate anyone who walked inside._

"I warned you," Draco said mildly, strolling back over to the astonished girl.

"How many more rooms in your house are like that?" Hermione cried.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Most of them are safe for me, because I have Malfoy blood. You bring almost all the full wards up automatically. You _should_ bring the full wards up."

Hermione stood, and noticed Draco was still taller then her. Annoyance washed over her briefly.

"So why don't I?" she countered.

"Well," Draco answered tonelessly, walking again, "The wards will only work at half-strength if the person has some sort of Malfoy blood in them, but not by birth or marriage. This actually doesn't only apply to blood, but any body fluids in general."

Hermione flushed, understanding the reason he kept the casual and uninterested tone. He knew that Lucius had to have done _something_ to her – _would his father have told him he kissed me?_ Hermione wondered. _I doubt it. Though knowing Malfoy he probably assumes something worse. _It was still a bit of a relief – at least that gave a reason for Lucius' actions.

Draco didn't turn around, but he could guess at Hermione's reaction. Which is exactly why he'd said it.

"Take a left," he announced, making an abrupt turn in the center of the hallway, straight through a wooden beam. Hermione quickly followed, biting back her angry reply at his lack of warning.

She walked straight into blackness. "Malfoy?" she cried, turning around in surprise and fright.

"Just keep walking straight," Draco replied, his disembodied voice carrying back to her.

"But I already turned!" she shouted back.

Footsteps followed, and Hermione felt a hand grab her arm, gripping it gently, and steering her through the blackness. "No need to scream, Granger, I can hear you just fine," Draco muttered.

"Where are we?" Hermione demanded.

"In a secret passage, obviously. Deep breath."

This time, Hermione obeyed, taking a huge lungful of air, and holding it. They continued walking, and she knew he wasn't breathing because all she heard were their footsteps.

"You can breathe again," Draco pointed out.

"How was I supposed to know?" Hermione ranted.

He scoffed. "Obviously you didn't read that book Father gave you as well as I'd have expected, Granger. Chapter four clearly explains the effects of various articles collected from dark creatures, in this case, grindylow horn. Only it can maintain effect under blood-based wards, and only it can have an effect of asphyxiation if inhaled. You just passed through air thick with powdered grindylow horn," Draco summarized.

"I'm beginning to really hate your house. I pity your mother for having to come and live here. And you sound like Snape," Hermione commented, letting Draco turn her down a different passage, still holding her arm and leading her.

"I do _not_ sound like Snape, and the Manor isn't all dark. Mother's married to Father, and that gives her as much safety as he or I. Besides, most pureblood family homes are like this, so she's used to it. Mother is a Black, after all."

"And their house _was_ awful," Hermione divulged appreciatively.

Draco stopped, with both of them still in total darkness. "When did you see the Black home?"

Hermione felt blood rush to her face. She could not let slip about the Order. Draco's father would know about it, but neither knew of her involvement. _What to say, what to say, what to say?! _she though desperately. "It was a museum tour," she blurted out.

"A museum tour," Draco repeated.

"Mmhmm," Hermione asserted weakly.

"Since when does the Black family give museum tours of their mansion?" he parried.

Hermione shrugged, and Draco tightened his grip on her arm.

"No answer?" he asked slyly. "Are you _lying_, Granger?" He brought his face down close to her ear. "That wouldn't exactly be _safe_, would it? _Alone_ in a dark corner of the enormous Malfoy Manor with the heir, who is your _only_ protection against dark spells made for _intruders_ like yourself." He added special emphasis to words, and Hermione shivered as he said them. "Want to know what would happen if I let go of you right now?"

"Nn-no," she answered, stuttering.

"Then when have you seen the Black home?" Draco stated. He knew the scare tactics were working perfectly – she was cracking quickly.

Hermione bit her lip, and felt Draco begin to let go of her arm. She opened her mouth to tell him, but only said, "It's the of the of thein ." _The Fidelius Charm!_ she thought. _I can't tell him where it is, or what it is – only Dumbledore can!_ Hermione almost laughed. Draco would have to accept the fact she couldn't tell him, and her secret was safe.

"God! What kind of spell are you under?" Draco exclaimed. He yanked her arm, and she tripped the last few feet back through another wall.

They were standing directly outside Hermione's room, and he pushed the doors open, pulling Hermione inside with him. A portrait across the hall woke up and started shouting at Draco in a gruff voice. "Young man! What is a Mudblood doing in this noble home?"

"Shut up," Draco answered, slamming the doors shut behind them to the portrait's indignant yells.

He let go of Hermione and stepped back. She rubbed her arm where he'd grabbed it.

"Why didn't you take me the normal way?" she asked. "Would your _father_ have approved of that?"

Draco sat on the arm of a chair, leaning against it, arms folded. "I didn't really intend on asking him, actually."

_That's different,_ Hermione thought. Draco had always been a slave to his father's opinion in school. Was this teenage rebellion, or had he changed? She studied him, and Draco was bemused as she pondered his face.

She bit her lip, ruminating over his expression. Draco stared back, a faint smile on his face, eyebrow raised.

"You only have to ask, you know," Draco commented haughtily.

"Ask for what?" Hermione replied, snapped out of her trance, frowning.

Draco sauntered over, and Hermione had to look up to see his face. She folded her arms defensively. "You were staring," he stated. "And you may be a Mudblood, but I'm not blind, nor do I want to be in this case...." His eyes didn't move from her face, and he kept smirking.

Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Why you arrogant little ferret!" she gasped. "Malfoy, you, you!" She shoved him away from her, and the bedroom doors blew open. Hermione pushed him again, and he flew across the hallway, slamming into the wall opposite, right beside the affected portrait.

"Damn it, Granger!" Draco yelped.

Hermione banged the doors shut, and locked them.

_That- that irritating, pompous, rude, little ferret! He is such a – _Hermione thought. She gritted her teeth. "I hate, hate, hate, _hate him!_"

Draco beat his fist on the door outside. "Granger, open the fucking door!"

"Shove off, Malfoy," she replied fiercely, feeling for a wand in her robes.

She found it, and uttered, "Silencio!" pointing the wand at the doors.

His shouts stopped.

Hermione flopped down into a chair. Her knees began aching again, and her arm still hurt. She curled up into the armchair, closing her eyes, which were aching. Her stomach growled, and she realized she hadn't had dinner or any water since waking up.

Then Draco smashed the door down. He actually only broke one door, hacking at it with a battle axe conveniently hung up outside. Stepping through, he stooped to make it, and tossed the weapon aside.

"Your wand doesn't work, remember?" Draco offered. He brushed a wood chip from his hair.

"You! Boy! The Manor won't tolerate that sort of behaviour! You'll be thrown out, I tell you!" the portrait shouted. Other pictures down the hall began to yell at them too. "And he's the _heir_!" one exclaimed in a scandalized tone.

"Oh, and you behaved so much better in your day," another painting argued.

Draco turned, yanking the door knob, which was still locked. He stuck his head through the hole and screamed, "Shut _up _all of you!"

They continued jabbering, and Hermione began to get worried. "Malfoy, can't you get them to be quiet? If your mother or father hears...."

"I'm trying to, Mudblood! I don't need them angry at me either!" Draco snapped.

"Lucius is coming!" a jolly knight cried. "Lucius! My great-grandson. How goes the fight?"

"My name is Narcissa," Narcissa replied icily. "You are blind, Tiberius, and a fool." She continued down the hallway, which was now silent except for whispers from the portraits as they dashed from painting to painting.

"Oh, shit," Draco muttered with feeling.

_Your mother?_ Hermione mouthed.

Draco cast a disgusted and sarcastic look at her.

"Draco! What – what have you done to this room? Where is the girl your father brought back?" Narcissa exclaimed, halting before Hermione's bedroom.

Hermione stood, moving so she was in Narcissa's field of vision. The other woman peered through the hole Draco had made. "Alohomora," she said, flicking her wand and unlocking the doors.

Narcissa opened the door, which promptly collapsed, almost falling on top of Draco. She examined the scene, seeing Draco, an axe, and Hermione anxiously standing there. Ignoring Hermione for the moment, and spoke to Draco.

"Are you aware that the Manor pulled me here?" Narcissa asked Draco, her tone one of displeasure.

Draco's eyes flicked to his mother's face, and Hermione noticed he seemed alarmed for a moment.

"I apologize, Mother," he answered. His voice was sincere, but devoid of the emotion he'd shown with Hermione.

"Your father is out, and I was down by the lake. Fortunately, I was able to make it here before the pain charms began," Narcissa continued severely.

"Pain charms?" Hermione blurted out.

"The Manor is tied to the Malfoy family," Narcissa explained offhandedly. "When it is attacked, it summons the closest family member to its aid."

_This only, _Hermione thought fervently_, reinforces my belief that this house is mad. Draco must have had a terrible childho – well, perhaps radically different is better. My parents never –_ Hermione felt that bubble of grief hard in her, and quickly stopped thinking about them.

"You," Narcissa said to Draco, "Will fix this room." She turned to Hermione, "And you are to come with me." With that, Narcissa turned and swept out of the room.

Hermione followed, leaving a very disgruntled Draco pondering how exactly he was going to fix this without magic.

As she followed Narcissa down the hallway, the portrait began to talk again. "Your mother's right, boy. Good to know at least someone's got enough blood and sense these days."

"Fuck you," Draco sighed, beginning to clean up the splinters. "Tilly! Rollop!" he bellowed, calling for the house elves

Hermione wanted to object – surely he had to do the clean up himself – but Narcissa was turning to walk down a flight of stairs, and then Draco and the portrait were gone.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four: Family Ties

It is said that power corrupts, but actually it's more true that power attracts the corruptible. The sane are usually attracted by other things than power.

David Brin

"I must apologize for my son," Narcissa conceded. "Draco oughtn't to meddle in his father's business, unless explicitly given permission. As you are currently Lucius' business, you should know that you have the right to...challenge Draco."

Hermione recoiled, and was thankful that the other woman was not facing her. Challenge Draco?

"I suppose you have not had dinner?" Narcissa asked coolly, plainly not interested in discussing her previous statement.

"No, I was in a study, reading," Hermione confessed cautiously.

Narcissa nodded, and threw open two double doors, revealing a small dining room. There was a fireplace, as was common not only for warmth but communication, a long, gleaming wooden table set for two, and soft light that spilled from light-charmed spheres. Hints of the wealth associated with the room were everywhere – in the expensive china, coffered ceiling, and antique lace tablecloth.

Narcissa gestured for Hermione to have a seat, and as she unfolded a napkin in her lap, the entrée magically appeared on her plate. Her glass also filled crimson with wine.

Hermione deliberately took a sip from the wine goblet, smiled, and began to calmly eat.

Narcissa arched an eyebrow (a trait Draco had inherited from her and which Lucius had picked up, contrary to popular belief) and also began to eat her dinner.

They didn't speak through the first three courses, and by that time Hermione's wine goblet was empty. She fumed, silently, knowing Narcissa was making a statement with this, and a rather rude one. As she'd learned in France, a hostess never allowed a guest's wine glass to fall below half full. And her's was empty. She waited for the inevitable bombshell while nibbling on the fruit and cheese.

Narcissa didn't fail to deliver.

"If I understand my husband's intentions correctly, you are to remain with our family for an extended period," Narcissa began. "I feel it is my duty to make certain things clear to you."

Unused to dissembling, Hermione's face completely displayed her disbelief. Before the blonde woman had another chance to speak, Hermione did. "I don't quite understand why you would take the trouble."

"You Muggleborns certainly are blunt, aren't you?" Narcissa replied, amused. "My husband – and my – interests extend so far as to our own advantage, I admit."

"Perhaps I wasn't blunt enough," Hermione answered, wanting to egg a response out of _someone_ in this family. "Why haven't I been raped, tortured, or killed yet?"

"I thought Lucius made that quite clear to you," Narcissa pointed out. "You are to be taught the Dark Arts."

"Yes, but you're not even trying to kill me! I'm sure V- Voldemort wouldn't have cared if Lucius cast the Cruciatus a few times more then was necessary, and you keep giving obscure answers to blatant questions!" Hermione argued. "At least Draco's acting normal, except for the whole..." her voice trailed off. She wasn't sure she wanted Narcissa to know _exactly_ how Draco had been acting.

"You are wrong that the Dark Lord would be unconcerned. He would have preferred to train you himself, but assumed Lucius would have a stronger influence on you, as well as Draco," Narcissa explained.

_That's a total lie – isn't it? And why is she telling me the Dark Lord's plans? How much could she know as a Death Eater's wife?_ Hermione thought frantically.

"You ask yourself why you are being treated decently. Dark magic performs better in a willing witch or wizard," Narcissa continued.

"I would never choose that," Hermione emphatically maintained.

Narcissa looked at her, a faint smile on her lips. "You would be surprised how quickly and easily one will trade sides, whether for supposed good or evil. It comes down to what a witch or wizard wants, and how much they are willing to do to get it."

Hermione didn't answer her, and Narcissa didn't speak again, except to ask her if she needed help finding her way back when their meal was finished. Hermione accepted, and a house-elf with conspicuous bandages on its feet limped in, moaning as it led her to her room.

The door, Hermione noticed immediately, had been repaired. She studied it for evidence of damage, and the portrait across the hall loudly stated, "It was _magically_ mended, you know."

"Oh, really?" she replied, faking surprise. "I thought you just went out and bought a new door." She opened said door, and shut it behind her, happy for a victory over a Malfoy family member, even if it was a picture.

She flopped down onto the bed, which annoyingly softened to keep her from bouncing off.

"That," Hermione announced to the room, "Was an extremely interesting dinner."

Standing again to walk around the room, Hermione continued to talk aloud and sort her thoughts. "They're obviously confident that I will choose to join Voldemort, or else the amount of leniency so far imposed would be absent. But Lucius isn't acting quite as respectfully as she suggests he is – an effort to scare me? Or is his ultimate goal with the barely civil attitude meant to make me act cruel as well; an effort to control my environment, perhaps?

"And Draco – what is he doing? Lucius said he's supposed to be a good influence on me. Is Draco a _training_ tool for me?" Hermione asked herself. Every question simply led to another question, not an answer.

_Alright, so how do I start getting answers? I don't think a library could help me with this one. _

Not Lucius – he wouldn't answer her questions. He clearly hated Hermione, and was there to teach her the Dark Arts, nothing more.

Narcissa? No, she was too faithful to her husband, too supportive of the Dark Lord's plan. _She helped in the plan to kill Sirius,_ Hermione thought. _She's just as ruthless as her husband_.

That left Draco, the house elves, the portraits, and any ghosts. Draco was a last resort, she hadn't seen any ghosts, and the house elves would have to punish themselves to tell her anything – _not an option_, Hermione firmly decided. Which left the portraits.

The one across the hall from Hermione's room was snoozing when she quietly opened the door. Tip-toeing down the hall, she walked up to a painting of a girl swinging, a child, and quietly spoke to her.

"Excuse me?" Hermione said.

The little girl looked at her. "Who are you?" she asked. "There's nobody like _you_ in this house."

"My name's Hermione," Hermione answered. "What's your name?"

"I'm Honoria," the girl replied, having gotten off her swing and plopped down in the grass, pulling at flowers. "I'm dead."

"Oh, I'm...sorry." Hermione wasn't sure what to say.

"My father was Tiberus Malfoy, and my mother was Dione Earnshaw, daughter of Merrick Earnshaw III and Lilith Rosier," Honoria recited rapidly. "My brother's name is Lucius. Don't you think that's a silly name? _I _think it's even worse then Vesan- Vespa- Ves_pasian_."

"Your brother's name is Lucius?" Hermione interjected.

"Yes, he's older then me. He went to Hogwarts for three years before I was born. He didn't know what to do with a little sister. But I died when I was eight anyway, so it didn't matter. Should I put another flower in?" The girl frowned, examining the flower chain she'd been making.

"No, why don't you wear it as a crown?" Hermione suggested. "Do you still speak to your brother? He lives here, you know."

"No, he's busy. But I do see him sometimes," Honoria said.

_So she was Lucius' sister and died when he was around twenty-one,_ Hermione thought. "Honoria, I don't want to make you upset, but how did you die?"

"It was sad," Honoria announced with big eyes. "I was sick for two weeks. The Healers couldn't do anything, and Mother cried and Father shouted at them, and Lucius held my hand. He brought someone else in, who cast spells that scared me, but they couldn't do anything either. I remember the Healers saying it was part of the epidemic."

"Thank you," Hermione answered.

"I'm going to go play now. The unicorns let me ride them when I bring flowers!" Honoria skipped out of her portrait, presumably to find said unicorns.

"An epidemic," Hermione repeated. She didn't know of any epidemics in 1975 – could the Healers have been referring to the spurt of unexplained deaths during the Years of Terror? Just what had killed Honoria, and had her death tipped Lucius into the Death Eaters? Hermione found it difficult to believe that a Lucius who hadn't always been a stanch follower of Voldemort had ever existed. Surely, though, he had. _Like Draco?_ she thought. _He was prejudiced the day he walked into Hogwarts, and certainly wants to join Voldemort. _But she knew that was unfair to say – he hadn't shown he wanted to join the Death Eaters, as irritating, prejudiced, and mean and petty as he could be.

Hermione continued down the hallway, and came to another portrait. This one was writing, its painted quill scratching away at a piece of parchment.

"No, that's not right either!" the man exclaimed. He sighed, grabbed a knife and scraped off what he'd written. His black wizard's hat tipped forward, smearing the ink on the parchment.

"Excuse me," Hermione began.

"What do you want, chit?" the man brusquely replied.

"You don't have to be so rude!" Hermione snapped back, angry at his behavior already.

"And you don't have to interrupt me. I'm busy," the man argued.

"Doing what?" Hermione sneered. "You're a painting." She hadn't been that mean in ages – it felt good to let the anger out.

The wizard looked furious, and grabbed a brush beside him, and his inkpot. "Goodbye," he said calmly, and then threw the inkpot. Hermione jumped back, expecting the ink to splash out of the portrait, but it splattered across the front of the painting, and the wizard smeared it around with his brush, until Hermione couldn't see him.

"On to the next one, then," Hermione sighed.

"You'll never get anything out of Uncle Willielimus," Draco announced, coming up from behind Hermione. She jumped.

"Does your family have a strange fetish for Latin names?" Hermione answered peevishly.

"No – it's traditional in some of the older families. The Snapes follow it as well, as do the Rookwoods and Travers," Draco replied. He seemed to be thinking, his eyes staring off into space.

In that utterly wizardly house, surrounded by magic and infused with the history of generations of one of Europe's oldest magical families, Hermione felt a bit of what the purebloods claimed as their culture. It was a deep one, ancient, rigid with tradition, intent on surviving the years despite the changing times. She may not agree with it – but it was a culture, and one she had to admit exists.

"Why did you want to talk to him anyway?" Draco inquired, folding his arms and looking down at her.

All sympathy for the pureblood aristocracy vanished with that gesture. Hermione's own prejudice returned with a vengeance and she folded her arms as well, looking defiantly up at him. "I wanted," she said, "To find out more about your father's intentions. How he plans to turn me dark."

"So you asked the portraits," Draco retorted.

"Yes," Hermione conceded, suddenly feeling foolish. _Bloody Slytherin_.

"You do realize that there are two other people who live in this house, as well as an extensive library?" Draco offered, having fun with her ignorance.

"I already spoke to your mother. She's as partisan as your father," Hermione scoffed.

"My apologies," Draco snapped.

Hermione quickly realized she'd insulted his mother. _Never thought he'd be one to leap to her defence. Of course, there was that incident with Harry...._

"Didn't Father make it clear to you?" he continued.

"No, he didn't. I have questions, and no one to answer them!" Hermione burst.

Draco whipped out a wand, and conjured two stools. They looked rickety and worn. He shrugged. "I can't manage to do chairs yet." He sat down on the better one.

Hermione was still somewhat impressed. Vanishing spells had been all too easy for her, but Conjuring spells had been more difficult. _Of course, his wand isn't bound to perform only the Dark Arts_. She took a seat, then blinked. "Malfoy, why are we sitting in the hallway when my room is right there?"

Draco looked a bit surprised. He stood, waved his wand again, and the stools vanished, leaving Hermione to fall hard. Opening the door to her bedroom, Draco waited impatiently. "Are you coming?"

"When I get up from the ground you dropped me on, yes, I'll be _happy_ to join you," Hermione cried.

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, hon," Draco quipped, putting on a fake American accent.

Hermione stood and opened the door beside Draco, refusing to accept the one he held open for her. "Don't call me hon. And you sound like a New Yorker," she sulked.

"No, I don't," Draco retorted, seeming insulted. "I sound like a Texan. Blaise agreed."

"Zabini would know this...how?" Hermione questioned. "His grandparents don't even speak English."

"How did you know that?" Draco exclaimed. First the Black family home, now Blaise's grandparents? "You're a Gryffindor, for god's sake!"

"I saw them visit him last year, after exams. They're very Italian," Hermione replied, feeling quite smug.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you wanted to be a Slytherin," Draco stated, a smirk (or was it a smile?) crossing his features as they bickered. "Or did you just want to sle – "

Hermione drew her wand, pointing it at Draco. "Don't finish that sentence, Malfoy. Unless you want me to hex you."

"Don't be stupid," he sneered. "That wand's enchanted to reflect the hex back on its caster if directed at a Malfoy."

_Actually,_ Hermione thought gleefully_, it's enchanted to protect your Father from me._ "Furnunculus!"

_He was right,_ Hermione realized immediately, with a sinking feeling. The purple light beam hit Malfoy and rebounded, strengthening to a deep violet. She saw Malfoy's shocked face at the wand's actions as well, and then the spell hit her and she blacked out.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five: Darkness

Every sweet has its sour; every evil it's good.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Hermione's hearing came back first, ringing as the words she could distantly hear began to become sharper. Then her vision returned, and finally, the nausea hit.

She swallowed and nearly slid out of Draco's arms. He'd caught her apparently. What was it he was saying?

"...Most girls don't faint when I insult them, but I suppose each to her own, after all. Are you awake again?"

Hermione shook her head, and felt like throwing up. "You. You _never_ stop."

"Slytherin trait, Malfoy trait," he replied.

Hermione's hands flew up to her face, searching for evidence of the hex.

"I already reversed it," Draco said.

"Thank you," Hermione automatically replied. It had been kind of him. Damn it, a Malfoy was acting decent again – exactly what she'd been trying to understand when she hexed him.

She stood on her own again, lurching the few steps to the same chair she'd been curled in earlier. _No axe this time, though_, she thought weakly, swallowing bile.

"Now that you can't walk off, and you know you can't curse me, why don't we get on to your little Spanish Inquisition?" Draco stated in a fake expression of glee.

"I didn't want to be the Spanish Inquisition. Just to answer a few questions," Hermione muttered.

"Always expect the Spanish Inquisition. Anyone whose national sport involves running from bulls is not to be trusted," Draco answered somberly.

"No – questions! I won't be distracted this time!" Hermione exclaimed, almost laughing at his last comment. _I'm mad at him, remember? He just insulted you, and you hexed him_. "Why did your father kidnap me?"

"To teach you the Dark Arts," Draco answered promptly. "You know that."

"How much are you part of those plans?" Hermione countered.

Draco arched an eyebrow. _Like his mother_, Hermione thought. She felt a little thrill of excitement that came with danger; the anticipation, expectation, uncertainty and adrenaline that made her want to smile and go trigger happy with her wand. It'd been what the Sorting Hat had noticed, and she'd felt it happily whisper in her ear. "Oh, you _are_ a Gryffindor."

"Why the hell would I tell you that?" he answered softly.

_And there's the adrenaline rush_, Hermione thought. His tone had changed. He was being more cautious now. Just as treacherous as his parents.

But Draco continued. "I'm as much a part of his plans as you are, Granger. Do you want to know them? I can tell you the details. The meetings, the agenda – I don't have a record of the minutes, but give me a few days to bribe Nott and maybe I would.

"The Dark Lord intends to have you taught the Dark Arts. Father is to be the one to teach you, though you won't need to be taught all of them. Dark magic corrupts, you see, it taints the user. It changes you irrevocably. You can't fight it. It soaks into you, becomes you, whispers to you – your wand even changes with the use of the Unforgiveables," Draco lectured, a slight smile crossing his face. His mood had swung from playful to menacing in a matter of a minute.

Dark magic had changed Draco Malfoy already, the alteration not complete, but he was transformed permanently. Even with redemption, even with complete revocation of his dark past and future, he would _always_ feel the pull to use it again, the love for power. For the magic to control you.

_Is that what they live with? The Death Eaters – do they see the other side, but love the dark side so that they don't want to?_

But Hermione knew that she would be even worse then a Death Eater after being taught dark magic. She had more drive then they did and a need to prove herself. The power would never be enough. Like Tom Riddle.

Hermione's breathing was shallow, and Draco watched the shifting behind her eyes, the resolve.

"Then Lucius has another thing coming," Hermione finally said.

"Do you really think you can beat him? You do, don't you," Draco realized, seeing her expression. "He's a Death Eater and a powerful wizard. You are _nothing_ but a Mudblood who thinks she can cast pretty spells and stand against him. You're too pure, too innocent. He'll outwit every move you make," Draco predicted, his stance defensive.

"Your father," Hermione shouted, "Is nothing but a low murderer, rapist, and a member of the infantry led by the wizarding equivalent of a terrorist group. There is no _glory_ or _power_ involved in that!"

Draco laughed. "You really are deluded, aren't you? I pity you, Granger. You're nothing but a dirty Mudblood, you can't possibly comprehend the culture, history, or generations of power and old magic that are part of pureblood society. You never will."

Hermione was furious. Because he was right.

"You want to – desperately. You march in here with idealistic plans to reform our world, spouting crap about saving house elves, and acceptance of Muggles, of lessening prejudice. Wake up, Granger. There are far bigger things in this world, darker, more dangerous ones. There's already a war, and you're busy making your own. Well, now you've been wrenched out of your fantasy fight, and plunged into the middle of the real one. Unfortunately, it's not the side you wanted. But it's the side you have, and it'll pull you over, just like it would to anyone else." Draco's voice was raspy from yelling when he finished. He'd lost his control.

"Get out," Hermione ordered.

"You can't harm me. You can barely stand," Draco scoffed. He took a step towards her.

Hermione looked around, and grabbed a vase that stood on the table beside her. "Leave, or I'll smash it. The Manor will call your mother or father."

Draco backed up when she held the vase, ready to drop it to the ground. "Watch yourself, Granger. You're in over your head."

_Cliché, and touché, _she thought as Draco left, quietly clicking the door shut behind him. Which made her angry again, this time at his control.

She stumbled to the bathroom, showered, and put on the nightgown that had appeared on the bed. Drawing it on, she crawled into the bed, yanked the curtains shut, and lay down down.

Sleep didn't come immediately, but she fell asleep praying, the words running through her head as she focused on her parents and Ginny. Focused like she did with magic, but that had failed her in this case. Which left faith.

The words began to blur, and her mind drifted from the prayers. Letting them slip away from her, she slid into jumbled dreams.

Hermione wasn't given an opportunity to wake up by herself the next morning. Tilly whipped the curtains back at a shocking 6:30 AM.

"Miss, Miss, get up, get up! Master wants Miss in only an hour!" the elf squeaked.

_I am truly beginning to regret SPEW, _Hermione thought.

The routine was similar to that of the morning before. As soon as Hermione was presentable, Tilly ushered her out into the hallway, down a grand staircase and into what was apparently a ballroom.

Lucius Malfoy was waiting; again staring out a window. These windows looked out across a pavilion that led to an expansive lawn and gardens. Beautiful, well-groomed, and reeking prestige. Hermione wasn't sure if that described the gardens, or the man looking at them.

He didn't look at her, and Hermione, deciding to ignore him, sat down on the polished marble steps. They looked expensive. She wished her shoes were muddy so she could ruin the effect.

Lucius turned, suddenly, and Hermione looked up. His face was impassive, and he beckoned to her.

Grumbling, Hermione stood.

"Spiritus prehendo!" he cried, apparently focusing hard on the spell. Lucius gripped his wand with white fingers. As the spell hit her, Hermione sourly thought that if this spell was going to make her suffer, at least he would too.

"Make me remove the curse," Lucius ordered, his arm stiff and unwavering.

Hermione took a step. Nothing happened. She took a deep breath, stepped forward – and took another breath. And another. She was gasping for air, but it seemed to thin every time she took more in. Frantic, she fumbled for her wand, nearly hyperventilating. "Gelu!" she choked out, flicking her wand upward.

Lucius' wand lifted as he twisted away. Hermione knew the spell was unfamiliar to him. It was traditionally used in cooking, to chill food. She'd accidentally learned this variation when Mrs. Weasley taught her the charm, and though this version wasn't specifically dark it was certainly grey.

"Desmevo," Lucius hissed, a puff of condensation escaping with the word. He hadn't reversed the spell, but it wasn't strong, and was wearing off. Or perhaps he liked cold.

Hermione put her hands above her head, trying to avoid the threads crawling out of the robes she wore over her dress. They wrapped tightly into her, cutting off circulation. "Finite Incantatem!" she shrieked. "Finite Incantatem!"

The threads loosened, and fell to the ground. Hermione had just enough time to jump out of the way as Lucius shot another spell her way. "Renverse pesateur," Lucius called out.

_Great, French_, Hermione thought. Her world literally tilted upside down, and she stumbled, feeling like she was going to fall into the ceiling. Lucius strode forward, intent on winning the duel. First blood defined a triumph, by wizarding rules.

Too befuddled to stop him, Hermione simply tried to stay upright as Lucius slid out a slim dagger and nicked the ring finger of her wand hand. The Manor righted itself around her.

Hermione slid to the ground with relief, not caring that she'd lost the duel.

"What did you do wrong?" Lucius asked, brushing a tendril of hair back from his face.

"You control the Manor," Hermione answered, thinking as she spoke. "That's why you spoke in French. But I can't win against that!"

"You are _supposed_ to fight _through_ it," Lucius replied coldly. He walked back to the window, and snapped his fingers. A desk came flying in from another room, sliding to a stop before him, the quill obediently rolling to his fingers. Dipping the quill into the inkpot, he began to write on the parchment the desk duly supplied. It seemed to be a short note – _to himself? To Voldemort?_ He didn't write more then a few lines.

"Come," Lucius demanded. He strode across the floor into the room the desk had come from. It seemed to be some sort of sitting room. There was tea prepared. Hermione's eyes narrowed. Why was Lucius serving tea?

Lucius sat down in a winged chair that faced the table, and put him conveniently in front of the doorway. Hermione took the seat across from him, in the back of the room, in an identical chair.

The blonde man poured a cup of tea, and handed it to Hermione. She almost laughed. "You must be joking. Why would I ever accept any food or drink from _your_ hand?"

"It's untainted," Lucius replied.

Hermione glared at him. He stared back, impassively, tilting his head back slightly. She swallowed the liquid in one gulp. It was plain Keemun tea.

"Sugar?" Lucius inquired.

"No," Hermione said. That was probably what was really poisoned. Unless the cup was poisoned? Or maybe it was the spoon to stir in the sugar that was poisoned. Hermione mentally slapped herself. _Stop the guessing games! You'll go mad!_

"Very well. Did you read the _Treatise on the Dark Arts_?" Lucius asked.

"Yes, of course I did," Hermione stated defensively. "It was interesting, although I disagree on several points with the author."

"And what might those points be?" Lucius contended.

"Benedict of Bryher maintains that some witches and wizards are better suited to the Dark Arts then ordinary magic. That's nonsense. He clearly states that the Dark Arts are meant to cause pain and suffering, to achieve their workers' own ends, or to control and gain power. Such actions and use of magic turn them into a host for free dark particles, corrupting the witch or wizard, not to mention the psychological desire to repeat the dark spells. Thus any use of dark magic is contradictory to magic itself, which is the basis for life. To be suited to the Dark Arts would mean you were meant to destroy yourself and, more fundamentally, life." _Which I am not_, Hermione mentally added.

"Yet there are wizards that are virtually powerless when it comes to performing simple transfiguratory spells, who can barely manage the most basic of charms, who struggle to care even for a flobberworm – and can cast wandless dark spells with ease and grace," Lucius countered.

"People aren't born evil!" Hermione cried. "There is no predestination in terms of magical ability."

"So you deny the existence of _Vicissitude Vires_?" Lucius suggested.

"No, but – well, that's not what it is! _Vicissitude Vires_, according to your _lord_ is a condition in which magic is shaped to its future use. That still implies that the magic inherent to the witch or wizard, was, at some point, neutral, and not inclined to light or dark usage," Hermione answered. He'd nearly caught her there.

"Not quite, Miss Granger," Lucius declared, triumphant. "The Dark Lord told you that _Vicissitude Vires_ is a condition in which magic _formerly_ meant for a different use is trained to a new one. This means that magic is inherently meant for a specific purpose in every witch or wizard. Call it talent, fate, or luck that property of magic still exists."

Hermione didn't answer. Lucius had, as Draco predicted, completely outwitted her.

"Now, consider the possibility that your magical ability is inherently dark. Naturally, at this time it is meant for 'ordinary' purposes; the day to day spells that are commonly practiced," Lucius continued.

"Why should I consider it? I won't become dark – I won't join the Death Eaters," Hermione insisted.

"Have you paid no attention?" Lucius exclaimed. "Your magic is malleable; merely by controlling your environment and what spells you perform it can become suited to the Dark Arts. As you yourself stated, practicing dark magic is a corruptive act that makes the practitioner a hub for free dark particles. You don't need to agree."

"Narcissa said that my power will be stronger if I voluntarily practice the Dark Arts, though. I'm of less use to you if I resist," Hermione retorted.

"And with time, you will be compliant," Lucius answered smoothly.

_What's the way out? _Hermione mentally cried. She felt confused and trapped – it was difficult to fight logically with someone who wouldn't back down. The puzzles she was used to didn't fight back.

_Calm down,_ she thought. _Remember – as long as you don't hate him, he'll never completely win. Except didn't he just disprove that? That he can make me want to use the Dark Arts, and want to curse him even if I don't hate him. I can't do this anymore. _Hermione thought wistfully of her bantering with Draco, until she remembered how that had ended too. _What's wrong with me? Why am I so distracted? _

Lucius was watching her, lips moving nearly imperceptibly. His eyes didn't move, or blink.

_He's jinxing me!_ Hermione realized. She grabbed the teapot and swung it at Lucius' head. The delicate bone china shattered, and steaming tea drenched him and his hair, the fragments scattering as he stood in anger.

Lucius backhanded Hermione. "Mudblood bitch!" he spat.

She fell to the floor with a cry, hand flying up to the side of her head. There was a cut from the seal ring that burned against her fingers.

Lucius seemed to immediately regret that action, and struggled to calm himself. _Why would he do that? He wants me to hate him!_ The confusion from Lucius' jinx had left Hermione's mind, and she could think clearly now, but that didn't seem to be helping, because she couldn't understand anything that was happening.

A house elf dashed in, eyes bulging at the teapot on the floor. "Mm-Master Lucius! What has happened? Peeper will clean it up immediately, Master. Oh, no, oh no!" the house elf nearly burst into tears, cringing at the scene.

"What are you waiting for, little rat?" Lucius barked.

Peeper shrunk back and hurriedly gathered the shards of broken crockery. The tea had already stained the chair Lucius had been sitting in, as well as his clothing, though that was black.

"Master, Peeper – hic – must take – hic – Ma- Master's robes," the elf hazarded. It was hiccoughing from held back tears.

"Take them then, damn it!" Lucius roared. Hermione jumped back when he said that. The elf actually burst into tears, and snapped it fingers repeatedly, vanishing the chair and Lucius' robe. It too then disappeared.

Lucius turned to the fire that was crackling in the room. The heat clearly wasn't necessary, but fires were often left on to allow for Floo calls.

Hermione stood cautiously, and seated herself in the chair again. She decided to risk a question. "May I be excused, Mr. Malfoy?"

"No, you may not, Miss Granger," he responded. "More tea?" A teapot had appeared at the table again, in another pot this time.

Hermione folded her arms. "No, thank you."

"Drink the tea," Lucius ordered.

"I don't want any, Mr. Malfoy," she answered.

"Imperio."

By the time Hermione had thrown of the curse, she'd already drunk the cup of tea. A cup which she promptly flung into the fire, where it broke and charred.

"Now, I have some questions for you," Lucius began.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Hermione retorted bitterly. She gasped in surprise. _I didn't mean to say that out loud! I barely even thought it!_

"It's an interrogative potion. There's no name for it – makes it more difficult to track. Your Potions professor developed it, as a matter of face. Severus is such an intelligent man, when he applies his skills appropriately," Lucius explained.

_I won't say anything, not until he asks a question. _Hermione clenched her teeth together tightly, jaw already starting to ache.

"What are your opinions on Draco?" Lucius asked, sounding concerned and interested.

"Draco Malfoy is a pompous, self-absorbed, irritating, rude, prejudiced, inbred bastard who's so obsessed with the dark side and following his father that he can't see past the shine on his gold Galleons," Hermione ranted. "He bought his way onto the Quidditch team, even though he's obviously a good seeker, which means he feels the need to prove himself to Harry, and he thinks he's god's gift to women, which he's not, however handsome he may be."

"I think you may have a little resentment towards my son, Miss Granger. I hope he hasn't disturbed you too much thus far?" Lucius answered.

"Disturbed? He broke into my room, accused me of sleeping with the Slytherins, told me I'd succumb to the dark side, dragged me through poisoned air, threatened to leave me in it, and then tried to flirt with me! He's gone past disturbed!" Hermione shouted.

"I see," Lucius ruminated.

Hermione fought back the urge to slam her fists onto the table in front of her and scream senselessly at him. The man didn't break calm when speaking to her, didn't give her any inclination of what he thought of her answers.

She stared at the tea set, refusing to meet the older man's eyes and determined to be as disrespectful as possible. That's when she noticed the sugar dish was still set out. But no milk? _Both should be set out. The Malfoys wouldn't make the mistake of forgetting part of their tea set, not unless they specifically ordered the house elves to do so. So if the tea is the poison, then the sugar is...an antidote?_

"I want you to think back to your church," Lucius declared, after thinking for a few moments. Hermione immediately felt nausea swirl in her stomach, and decided to risk what was a very stupid idea.

"When your parents were being – "

Hermione didn't give him a chance to answer. She tilted the sugar bowl into her mouth, swallowing as much as she could, and letting the rest spill out onto her. The effect was immediate. As she'd hoped, the potion in the tea was nullified.

"How unfortunate. I was hoping that you'd be able to answer more questions," Lucius commented mildly at Hermione's antics.

She glared, trying to look as angry as possible when her cheeks were puffed out from chewing massive amounts of sugar.

"Since you are so disinclined to speak with me, I will leave you. I have appointments to keep. Good day, Miss Granger." Lucius stood, inclined his head, and left the room.

Hermione continued to sit there, until she'd swallowed all the sugar in her mouth. It left a too sweet aftertaste, and she could feel a headache coming on. Suddenly inspired, she turned to the fire. There was, as she'd hoped, a crystal jar on the mantle. Hermione hurried over to it, lifting it down carefully and pouring a handful into the fire. The flames turned green.

Hermione replaced the jar, and didn't even check to see if she was still alone. She bent down (it was a small fireplace) and stepped into the flames.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!" she cried.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Afternoon at the Manor

If at first you don't succeed, find out if the loser gets anything.

Bill Lyon

The flames rose up, and the dizzying spins of Floo travel enveloped Hermione. She felt a thrill of joy, of success and relief.

Until she hit a brick wall.

The green flames were still licking around her, and she couldn't see Malfoy Manor, but there was a brick wall in front of her.

Hermione tried again. "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

Nothing.

"The Burrow!" she exclaimed. _They must have it blocked off for safety, that's all._

Another brick wall stood in the place of where she could enter the Burrow. Hermione tried to think of other places to go.

"Diagon Alley!"

A brick wall. The same for "Gringotts", "Hogwarts", "the Longbottoms" and even "Snape Manor" (which she felt was worth a try). All had brick walls. Hermione was forced to return to Malfoy Manor, as the Floo powder was beginning to wear off.

The fireplace spit her back out onto the carpet, and she coughed up the soot inhaled during the nauseating ride. For a few minutes, she didn't move and allowed herself a moment to indulge in self-pity.

_It was a long shot anyway,_ Hermione consoled. _Did you really think that the Malfoys would have an open Floo system?_

Feeling very disappointed and rather lonely, Hermione stood and went back into the ballroom. Wandering around the house wasn't an option, as she'd only get lost again, but there was a door leading out to the lawn and gardens. _I don't think that door was even there before,_ Hermione thought.

She put her hand on the doorknob and pushed. It opened onto an empty patio. She wondered if Alice in Wonderland ever felt like this, and nervously let the door shut behind it. It clicked closed, and she tried to open it again. It wasn't locked – one positive thing thus far in the day.

The fresh air felt wonderful, though the humidity would frizz her hair up before too long. Hermione slipped her shoes off and carried them, walking out onto the lawn and into the sunshine. The light soaked her in warmth, and a smile came to her face. Deciding to take a walk towards the gardens, she slipped her shoes back on and set out for the rows of hedges, trees and flowers that were about five hundred feet away.

_You wouldn't think that this belongs to one of the darkest wizards in Britain_, Hermione thought. A hummingbird zipped past, and then dipped it's beak into a flower, wings still beating into a blur.

The gardens were truly beautiful. Gazebos, fountains, and benches tucked away or grandly displayed provided opportunities to rest and admire the view. Steps and pathways traipsed through different areas; rose gardens, a maze (which Hermione carefully avoided), another lawn area which rolled up to fruit trees. _It seems endless_, Hermione thought, as she rested in an olive grove, _like a garden of Eden_.

Some of it had to be magical – olive trees didn't normally grow beside lush lawns and rose gardens, and many flowers and trees were blooming out of season. How much was magical – that she didn't know the answer to. So far, everything had appeared very Muggle, no magical animals or plants. No fairies, gnomes (though she supposed the Malfoys wouldn't allow them), porlocks or auguries. She thought she'd seen aethonons earlier, winging around high in the sky, but hadn't located a stable. They'd be wonderful to see up close....

Peace – that was what this garden was, a balance to the danger and darkness of the Manor above it. A counterpoint to all the negative energy bursting from that home and its occupants. Feng shui for the dark wizard.

A bee zipped past, and a light breeze whispered through the trees. The olive Hermione was leaning against was curved enough that she could lean into it. The sun felt warm on her arms and legs, and her eyes began to drift closed.

It was only a few minutes before the silence and relaxation gave way to blissful sleep.

Hermione yawned, and opened her eyes, stretching slightly. It was apparently still the afternoon – she couldn't have slept for more then an hour.

For a few minutes she didn't move, instead choosing to lie against the tree and let the sleepiness ebb from her body. Drowsiness began to intrude on her mind again.

Her eyes fluttered shut in sleep for the second time.

She dreamed this time. Once, Hermione had read about dreams. According to Muggle scientific research, you often dreamed about things you wouldn't think about consciously. Things you weren't willing to think about, or things you subconsciously avoided – even things you'd forgottten.

It was little surprise that Hermione's dreams were a bloodbath of screams and black cloaks, spells and running. So much running – conversations with Ginny as they ran, straying to everything from their pursuers to the Yule Ball fourth year. Her parents, they'd stood off to the side, just watching. The dream took her away from everyone, but not before the sane part of her dream self clutched futilely at them, trying to hold on to their faces.

Her eyes snapped open, and she lurched forward, giving a slight cry before she noticed she was awake. Gasping, pulse beating erratically she struggled to calm herself down. The dream faded away, except for the images of her parents. She didn't remember dreaming about Ginny.

When Hermione felt well enough to stand up again, she did, the blood rushing through her and spots blurring her vision.

She still felt so sleepy though, more then she had all afternoon. It was warm and lovely outside. Perfect for a nap. _You already took a nap_, she scolded herself sternly.

Hermione stumbled out of the olive grove, and when she hit the gravel path, felt instantly alert. It was like a caffeine shot from the ultimate Starbucks coffee drink.

"It was the grove!" she exclaimed aloud. _That's what was making me sleepy!_ She shivered at the thought of what would have happened if she'd fallen asleep again. Then she shuddered again because she didn't know what would have happened.

Hermione resolved to stay on the path from then on. _It's so easy to let down your guard, though, when faced with something that's simple or beautiful_.

The nap seemed to have woken her up to her surroundings. Now, the trees that had seemed so innocent appeared to be horribly infested with bowtruckles. The roses liked like the Sleeping Beauty thorn variety, and she thought several times that she saw things watching her. Paranoia, probably, but better safe then sorry.

Walking quickly towards the house, the path took Hermione back to the maze. She turned around to look back. She _could_ go back the other way; that would be the sensible thing. But it seemed like if she went through the maze, then she'd get out sooner – she could see the outside of the garden from here. It was perhaps one hundred yards through the maze. Even if the maze didn't go that way, she could always blast the bushes out of the way. She wavered, leaning towards the maze, and then looking back at the path. _Don't be stupid, _her mind chided,_ save the heroics for when you have a useable wand and you're not a captive of the Malfoys. _

Regretful, Hermione turned around and started to backtrack. She passed the olive grove quickly, not even looking at it. The leaves fluttered in the wind. She kept her eyes on the gravel path, which seemed the safest, and most practical option.

Halfway back, she saw the aethenons again. Tilting her head up, she shielded her eyes from the sun and watched them turning and soaring above her. They were lower this time – five of the winged horses - and she could even hear the whinnies of one. One dove towards the ground, twisting so that it soared back up when it was twenty feet above the ground. Hermione gasped, and her eyes widened. She watched in rapture.

If she hadn't been so entranced, she would have heard wing beats, but as it was the aethenon that hurtled down over her escaped her attention until it had shadowed her, and the hooves whooshed through the air above her head.

Hermione shrieked and ducked, whipping out her wand as she crouched down. Seeing it wing away out of the corner of her eye, she stood, taking a defensive stance (Harry had taught her it during the D.A. meetings the year before) and scanned the sky for the offending animal. She spotted it quickly, turning to fly back towards her, its back to the sun. She didn't move, pointing her wand at it, and shouting, "Impedimenta! IMPEDIMENTA!" The spell shot towards the aethenon, and it slowed to a snail's pace, floating forward slowly in the air.

Hermione began backing away, peering up at it. She had difficultly seeing more then a silhouette of it, being as it was in the sun. Thus the ground out, "Finite Incantatem!" came as a complete surprise.

The aethenon continued its swift descent. Hermione again cried, "Impedimenta!" and this time stopped it only fifty feet from her. She could now see there was a rider on its back, in a black cloak.

"Stop that!" the rider yelled. He – for the voice was male – struggled to move his arm to the appropriate position for the counterspell.

"Who are you?" Hermione demanded, preparing to cast the jinx again.

"Well, I'm not trying to kill you, I would have done that already if I meant to!" the man exclaimed in exasperation. "Finite Incantatem!"

Hermione almost cast the Impediment curse again, but her heart kept her from doing so. She had a slowly growing hope that perhaps this was a rescuer – someone from the Order, a Auror, anyone.

The winged horse and rider galloped through the air to land on the ground, the aethenon snuffling and pawing the ground. It clearly wanted to jump back into the sky.

"Easy, easy," the rider murmured. Hermione could see he had pale hair – a Malfoy, then, not a rescuer. She took several steps closer, her eyes still full of spots from looking so closely at the sun. He turned.

It was Draco Malfoy. No, not a rescuer. He held the reins in his left hand, and his right hand was undoing the clasp on his cloak, then brushing silver hair out of his eyes. The aethenon bumped its nose against his neck, flapping its wings and ruffling their feathers. Draco soothed it, petting its neck.

Hermione was in awe, so much so that her face didn't even hide it. She and Harry had ridden Buckbeak, and the thestrals, but an aethenon was different. They could fly higher, faster, were easier to train, and there was simply...more of a draw to a winged horse then a hippogriff, and it would certainly be more pleasant then flying on an invisible beast. And Draco had been riding one. She was deeply jealous of that opportunity, and looked longingly at the saddle, forgetting the garden and the near attack. She wanted to ride that aethenon.

Draco watched her, having calmed the horse. She was staring at the aethenon. He'd practically attacked her, technically had, as he'd resisted her spells, but all she was paying attention to was the stupid winged horse. She seemed to be restraining herself from running over and cooing to it.

"I didn't know you could ride aethenons," Hermione remarked, her eyes not moving from the animal. It looked at her, whinnied, and snorted. She melted. Draco watched in bewilderment. Granger completely losing it for a horse? Who would have thought.

"Hapless Hagrid covered them in Care of Magical Creatures," Draco answered.

"No, I _know_ that," Hermione replied impatiently. "I meant that I didn't know _you_ rode them, Malfoy."

"My family owns eight of them. We have a stable on the north side of the property," Draco explained. The aethenon nipped at its shoulder, not aware of all the attention bestowed on it. "I learned how to ride them once I knew how to fly."

"Is it much like flying on a broomstick?" Hermione asked.

"No. Brooms are controlled purely by you, and are temperamental according to their rider. Aethenons respond like horses, and are intelligent. They take instructions from you, but must be trained. Their temperament and ability varies with the animal. And they can't fly as far as brooms, because they need to rest. The farthest you could go with one is probably to the border of Wales. They have bursts of energy, but aren't built for endurance. Most prefer to soar around in the sky. You need an abraxan for that."

Draco's lengthy explanation impressed her. He clearly knew a lot about flying horses. _Odd, but fitting for an aristocrat,_ Hermione thought.

The aethenon fidgeted, eager to get back into the sky. It hated being still. Seeing her opportunity about to take off into the clouds if Draco let go of the reins, Hermione threw aside all pride and inhibitions, letting her Gryffindor side totally take over. "Can I ride him?" she asked desperately.

"You couldn't handle it yourself," Draco scoffed. "I bet you've never even been on a horse."

"I've ridden a hippogriff," Hermione argued.

"You're terrible with a broom," Draco shot back.

"I'm not terrible! Just average. Most witches and wizards aren't great with a broom, Malfoy," she insisted.

Draco stood silent for a moment, thinking it over. Hermione hated being at his mercy, _but I want to ride that aethenon. No matter what!_

"Alright," he finally replied. "You can ride it. But I fly with you."

Hermione barely hesitated. "Fine." She strode over, and prepared to swing into the saddle. Unfortunately, the horse was much larger then she was, and this proved too difficult.

"Need help?" Draco asked, smirking.

A "no" was on the tip of her tongue, but Hermione smiled tightly, said "Yes" and allowed Draco to put his hands on her waist and boost her into the saddle. This already putting her high above the ground, Hermione searched for reins to clutch. There were none.

"What am I supposed to hold onto?" she cried.

"Aethenons don't tolerate reins. It's hard enough to train them to allow themselves to be saddled. Move back, so I can get on," Draco answered.

As the aethenon shifted beneath her, Hermione nervously scooted to the back of the saddle. Draco swung up in front of her, and grasped the winged horse's mane.

"Hold on," he ordered.

"Not – not to _you_," Hermione spluttered out. Draco shrugged, nudged the aethenon with his foot and Hermione scrambled to throw her arms around his waist as the creature reared and galloped forward, wings beating hard as it leaped into the air.

She gasped as they hurtled up, the aethenon flapping it's wings, and turning to wheel happily through the air. The other winged horses soared in circles towards them, one swooping above their heads.

Hermione's jaw dropped open in awe and wonder. This was fantastic. She held happily on to Draco as the aethenon flew through the air, spiraling higher and then diving down. _This is nothing like a broom_, Hermione thought. _Harry would give his up in an instant for a ride like this_.

They skimmed the surface of the lake, Hermione and Draco's reflections zooming into a blur on the glassy stillness of the water. Then they were soaring sky bound again, and Hermione's robes were flapping hard against her, hair fluttering in her face.

Eventually, Draco nudged the aethenon and it glided in to the ground, taking a few galloping steps before settling impatiently to let them off. The moment both Draco and Hermione had dismounted, and Draco had pulled its saddle off, it sprung back into the air.

Hermione tilted her head up, watching it whinny and join its fellows in the sky.

"Thank you," she said honestly.

Draco shrugged and muttered something under his breath. Hermione was intrigued. It wasn't a "your welcome" but he hadn't bit her head off either. How odd.

"How will we get back without it?" she added, somewhat stupidly, still dazed by the flight.

"Walking," Draco retorted. "How else did you get here?"

_So much for a softer side._

"But that'll take another hour at least...." Hermione's voice trailed off. She didn't want to spend an hour with Draco Malfoy. It would be a very awkward hour – what do you say to the son of your kidnapper? To a boy who had always been your enemy? To a wizard who was powerful and had the penetrating grey eyes....

Draco rolled his eyes in disgust. "God forbid you have to walk a little, Granger." But he removed a ring on his left hand, an old silver one with the Malfoy crest engraved in the emerald that glittered on top of it. Grabbing her hand, he whispered words, tightly grasping the ring with his free hand.

Hermione saw the world begin to blur around her as they moved faster and faster, literally flying above the path back towards the Manor, although their feet didn't move. Draco continued whispering words, and Hermione leaned in, wanting to know what he was saying. It sounded French....

They stopped abruptly, on the pavilion Hermione had entered on her first night at the Manor. Having already started to lean in, Hermione's body continued falling forward due to her momentum. She threw her arms out in front of her to avoid toppling onto Draco, but instead she managed to tackle him to the ground, both landing together in a heap.

Draco looked extremely surprised and ruffled, his mouth dropping open at the girl who'd collapsed on top of him. Hermione tried to scramble up, but elbowed Draco as she was doing so.

"Christ! Watch it!" he shouted, his breath whooshing out of him.

Hermione hurriedly rolled off of him, kneeling beside Draco and yanking him upright, nearly wrenching his arm out of his socket. "Are you alright?" she asked worriedly.

Draco stared back at Hermione in shock. She'd tackled him to the ground, elbowed him so hard he'd lost his breath, and then nearly ripped his shoulder out of place. But she wanted to know if he was okay?

Hermione bit her lip, pulling it between her teeth, waiting for him to answer her. "Well, are you, Malfoy?" she cried.

Slowly realizing that she was much more complex then he'd originally thought Draco nodded. Then, overcome by the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, he began to laugh.


End file.
